


Howard Stark's A+ Parenting (Or: A Lesson in Healing)

by Avengerz



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avengerz/pseuds/Avengerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s already on edge, is the thing. He’s already thinking about Howard, about the man that Tony could never measure up to in his father’s eyes, already thinking about the pain Steve inflicted in that godforsaken corner of Siberia. He’s already on edge, and when T’Challa raises his hand, Tony flinches.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howard Stark's A+ Parenting (Or: A Lesson in Healing)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on [ImagineIronPanther:](http://imagineironpanther.tumblr.com): "tony and tchalla were arguing when suddenly tchalla raised his hand , and tony react. and thats how tchalla know that tony was abused"

They’re arguing about Steve, and Tony hates it, hates that this new, fragile, beautiful thing between them is being ruined by Steve Fucking Rogers, hates that he can’t be okay with his boyfriend hosting him and his merry band of outlaws in their home, hates that he’s still so scared of them, hates that he’s still not able to shake that bone-deep fear of those bigger and stronger than him that’s lurked in his very marrow for years.

He’s already on edge, is the thing. He’s already thinking about Howard, about the man that Tony could never measure up to in his father’s eyes, already thinking about the pain Steve inflicted in that godforsaken corner of Siberia. He’s already on edge, and when T’Challa raises his hand, Tony flinches.

It’s the stupidest thing, because Tony realizes just a millisecond later that his boyfriend had only been reaching up to rub at his temple. T’Challa would never hurt him, he knows that, ( _he hopes that_ ), but it’s too late, he’s flinched. For a wild second Tony hopes that T’Challa didn’t notice, but it wasn’t a subtle gesture, it was a full on jerk backwards away from T’Challa, and T’Challa’s too smart, his senses too well trained, to miss such a thing.

T’Challa freezes, hand halfway to his forehead, watching Tony with wide eyes. Tony raises his chin, meets his gaze defiantly, channels the iron Howard beat into him. “I’m just saying,” he continues stubbornly, “you’re recklessly endangering your country and your people for the sake of a bunch of-”

“Tony,” T’Challa says, and his voice is too soft, his eyes too kind, and Tony has to look away. He trains his eyes on the marble floor and forces himself not to back away as he sees T’Challa slowly step closer to him. His boyfriend reaches out, slowly, carefully choreographed in a way he’s never had to move before, ( _and Tony hates this, hates that T’Challa now sees this in him, sees this weak, broken thing just beneath his skin)_ , and takes Tony’s hand. “ _Katana_ ,” T’Challa murmurs, and Tony shudders under the sound of his love.

It’s too much, and Tony looks up again, meets that concerned gaze with a fierce glare, those pursed lips with bared teeth. “What,” he snarls, “gonna pity me now? ‘Oh, poor Tony, his daddy never loved him. So sad, the privileged white dude could never live up to the ghost of an American icon.’ That’s all ancient history, T’Challa,” he rips his hand out of T’Challa’s grasp, slashes it angrily through the air. “I don’t need your fucking pity, I’m over it, it was just a stupid reflex-”

“Tony,” T’Challa says again, gentle, and Tony breaks.

“DON’T SAY MY NAME LIKE THAT,” he screams, loud and angry and shaking with the terror crackling through his every nerve. It echoes through T’Challa’s chambers.

The door opens behind him, and one of the Dora Milaje says something, tight and concerned. T’Challa replies, calm, and the door slowly closes again. Tony closes his eyes and shudders with the force of trapped sobs.

He’s caught, somewhere between this present, this splintering of a relationship only barely begun, and nearly forty years ago, the hatred from a father he’d tried so desperately to impress, and it’s too much to bear.

A hand, rough with a warrior’s callouses, cradles his face, and Tony tenses against the gentle brush of a thumb wiping at his wet cheek. “Oh, _isithandwa_ ,” T’Challa says, barely above a whisper. “How could I pity a man so strong? How could I pity someone who has cracked and broken and been pulled apart at the seams over and over again, and has stitched himself together every time?” Tony cries, silent and exhausted, under the gentle brush of lips to his forehead. “I am in _awe_ of you, _sithandwa sam.”_

“I don’t feel so strong,” Tony says, a confession only possible in a wet whisper. He hears T’Challa’s breathing hitch, and then strong arms are pulling him, gently but inexorably, into his lover’s chest. Tony crumples against him, can’t help it, fists his hands in the soft robes over T’Challa’s heart and bawls like a baby. T’Challa lowers them slowly to the floor and pulls him closer, rubs a hand up and down Tony’s spine and whispers sweet nothings.

Later, they will talk, and Tony will tell the story piece by faltering piece. He’ll paint a picture of a loving but distant mother, a father who drowned his intelligence in whiskey and expressed his disappointment through his fists, a child genius growing up ostracized and lonely in a world that only wanted to hurt him. T’Challa will growl his anger on Tony’s behalf and Tony will laugh tiredly at him and remind him of the futility of anger at dead men and T’Challa will kiss him sweetly and Tony will sigh into something that feels like healing.

But for now, Tony clings to his love on a cold marble floor and remember that it’s okay to not be okay.

  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Katana:_ kitten  
>  _Sithandwa sam:_ my love
> 
>    
> EDIT: I'm glad so many people have enjoyed this ficlet. I hope it reminds anyone who's going through a difficult time that it's okay to be sad and angry and falling apart. It's okay to not to be okay, but it will get better. Even if you don't have a Wakandan prince to sweep you up into his arms, it will get better.


End file.
